I went on a family trip altogether and it was just me, my Mum, my Dad, my Sister, my Nan, my Grandad, annnnd my drugs. Codeine, mainly. It was a beautiful house, right by the sea and in a nice little town with nice pubs and a lighthouse in the distance. I loved it. Especially when I was high.
Almost the entire time I was there I was popping codeine. It was enjoyable, until one night when we went to see the stars and me and my Mother and Sister had an argument. I stormed off down the beach (at like 10/11pm at night?) where the rock pools were. My Sister and Dad followed because it was fun and as long as we could see, it wasn’t dangerous. I knew without light it was dangerous because there were large rocks, small rocks, rocks with soaking seaweed on them, and rocks that sank if you stood on them. I remember running over them without a care in the world. In the distance I heard my parents calling me worried because I had no light, bad shoes for the activity, and anything could have happened. I was risk-taking and I knew it. This was also around the time I was completely ready, even willing, for death to take me. Little did I care about myself or dying, and on the drugs, little did I care even for my family if they lost me. I was selfish.
I started running towards a footpath, and trailing behind me were my parents shouting me back. I was angry with them, and for some reason, with my sister too. Funny how at the time it means so much to you, but afterwards, you even forget what the argument was about. Despite knowing this, I wanted to punish them, make them worry. I followed and followed the footpath and it got narrower and narrower until finally, it was basically looking over the clifface. I could see in the distance some kind of field with a gate so I knew there was a way through, so I carried on walking, passing a family on the way. A while later I reached the golfcourse, and started making my way to the edge. For me, somebody who kind of feels exhilarated when faced with potential danger, I walked even more toward it. I felt happy, probably mostly due to the codeine. I loved looking down the giant cliff-face, and the sad thing was, I liked imagining jumping off. At some point later, my parents came and I didn’t even notice them at first as I was enamoured by everything, and my thoughts were slow, which they very rarely are. I felt freedom and peace and happiness.
Finally I was snapped back into reality by my parents and I could see their panic and upset and fear. I wish I was more sympathetic towards them, looking back, but all I could think of was “why are they so mad?” “I’m 21 years old, I can do what I want.” “they are smothering me!” But looking back, I see exactly why they were concerned, and they had the very right to be. In fact that whole holiday trip I was just thinking about death. My favourite parts were jumping on the railings at the boat harbour and imagining jumping into the sea and being swept away, or the large bridge by one of the towns that you could walk across, I loved imagining jumping from there too. I was a mess and I didn’t care. It worries me to think about the person I was, and worries me that I may not be that different.
I can’t even say there is a moral to that story, because that was just one in a long line of stories that result from my past drug use and mental problems.
If you or anybody you know suffer with addiction, reach out, to loved ones, your doctor, your therapist, or find an online system to talk to someone through, or a helpline. It might help, so why not give it a try?